Chapter 21
21
Claudius
Cecely’s lips part on a soft, broken gasp as she shatters around me, her body trembling in my arms. The air between us is thick with steam, curling around our skin, wrapping us in a world that feels separate from everything outside this moment.
I hold her tighter, anchoring her against me until the shaking stops, until her breaths even out, her heartbeat slowing in sync with mine.
Her head rests against my chest, damp strands of hair sticking to my skin.
“I never want to move,” she murmurs, her voice hushed, almost dreamlike.
I know the feeling.
The last few days have been…fuck. I’ve never experienced anything like this. Never felt this consuming pull, this raw, unrelenting need that has turned hours into days, and days into something outside of time itself.
Being with her feels like I’ve finally come home.
I run a hand down her spine, slow, deliberate, committing every inch of her to memory. Because as much as I want this to last forever, I know it can’t. And the real world? It’s waiting for us. Waiting to pull us back into the storm we’ve ignored for too long.
I haven’t checked my phone in days.
Haven’t thought about why my brother’s grave is empty.
Haven’t questioned why Cecely’s stomach has a slight roundness to it—something I noticed in passing but never let myself think too much about.
That all stops today.
Because as soon as we leave this room, we’re going to get answers. And I have a feeling neither of us will like what we find. As soon as I decide, something shifts. The air feels thicker, the weight of reality pressing in from the edges of the world we’ve locked ourselves in.
I step out of the shower first, grabbing a towel, running a hand over my face, forcing myself to get back into the mindset I need.
Focus. Control. Answers.
Cecely follows, her movements slower, more languid, her body still glowing from the last few days we’ve spent tangled together. The bruises on her neck from my teeth already starting to fade. She doesn’t feel the shift yet. But I do.
I grab my phone from the nightstand. Dead.
Figures.
“I’m not surprised your phone is dead,” she says, looking up at me. “You were on it when you weren’t inside of me.”
I snort. “Thank god for lightning chargers.”
I plug it in, waiting for it to turn on, a sense of unease curling in my gut. Cecely towels off beside me, sighing as she collapses onto the edge of the bed.
“You okay?” I ask, watching her.
She gives a small, satisfied smile. “Yeah. I just…” She exhales, stretching lazily. “I needed that.”
I almost smirk, but my phone vibrates, lighting up with a dozen missed notifications. Fuck. Guess it’s back to reality. I exhale, already dreading what’s waiting for me on the other side of that screen.
“You stay in here. Rest. I’m going to my office.” I hesitate, glancing at her. “Maybe bring some of your things in here.”
She bats her lashes at me, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. “Mr. Irons. Are you asking me to move in with you?”
“Yes.”
She freezes.
For the first time in days, I see her flustered. Her teasing expression falters, replaced by something softer, something real.
A slow flush creeps up her neck, warming her cheeks. And fuck me, I like the way she looks when she’s caught off guard.
I lean in, my lips brushing softly against hers, savoring the warmth, the closeness.
“Bring it all in here.”
Her breath hitches slightly, but she doesn’t hesitate.
“Okay.”
I smirk, tilting my head.
“Okay,” I echo, as if we’re making some kind of silent agreement. And maybe we are. I step back, watching her for a moment longer, memorizing the way she looks in my bed, in my space, like she belongs there.
It’s a dangerous thought.
But for once, it doesn’t feel like a risk.
I’m still smiling when I leave my room, feeling like a new man. For the first time in a long fucking time, the shadows of my past don’t feel so heavy. For once, they don’t own me. But that feeling lasts exactly four minutes.
Because the moment I step into my office, Agnes is already there, waiting. And one look at her face tells me whatever she’s about to say is going to ruin everything.
Her eyes meet mine, dark and unreadable, and the small shred of peace I had just minutes ago?
Gone.
I shut the door behind me, bracing myself. “What is it?”
She hesitates.
Not a good sign.
Agnes never hesitates.
I exhale sharply. “Just say it.”
“Mr. Blanc reached out. There’s been another attack.”
Agnes’ words land like a brick to the chest. Another attack?
I reach for my phone, scrolling fast, my pulse hammering as I take in the missed calls and messages. Sure enough, each of the Elite Members has tried reaching me over and over since I locked myself away with Cecely. I clench my jaw. Fuck.
“Did anyone die?”
Agnes swallows. “No, but Mr. Blanc was injured.”
A brief wave of relief. Then unease.
I still don’t believe my brother is alive, but that casket was empty. And now there’s been another attack.
Agnes hesitates before speaking again. “Sir, I don’t think you should bring Mr. Blanc here.”
My gaze snaps to her. “Who said anything about bringing him here?”
Something flickers in her eyes. A moment of hesitation. Too fast to read, but it’s there.
“You did,” she says carefully. “When you texted me.”
A beat of silence. The air shifts. Slowly, deliberately, I scroll through my messages again. Nothing. No texts from me to Agnes.
I lift my gaze, cold, calculating.
“There are no messages from me to you, Agnes.” My voice is calm, but underneath it a storm brews.
She doesn’t flinch, but I see it. The tightening of her fingers and the flicker of unease.
“What game are you playing?” I take a step forward, my voice dropping into something low, lethal. Something that warns. Something that promises. “Does this have anything to do with why you shoved that fucking needle in my neck?”
Agnes’ lips part, but no words come.
For the first time since I walked in, she looks uncertain. Not afraid. Not yet. But close.
“Sir, you know why I shoved the needle in your neck.”
I don’t blink. “Explain it to me as if I don’t.”
I cross my arms, my stance unmoving, unrelenting. I wait.
Agnes inhales, and for the first time, I see the slightest tremor in her hands.
“Please don’t ask me to do this again.”
Again? The word rings in my skull like a gunshot. My eyes narrow. She’s done this before. The realization sinks in, sharp and slow.
I tilt my head, studying her the way a predator does prey.
“When?” My voice is softer now. Dangerous in a different way.
She swallows but says nothing. She’s hiding something. Something I should have known. Something I need to know.
“Agnes.”
The single word cuts through the air like a blade. Sharp and deliberate.
She spirals instantly.
“You need to get help, sir! I can’t keep doing this.” Her hands wring together, knuckles white, fingers trembling. “ You can’t keep doing this!”
My pulse kicks up, but my expression doesn’t change.
“Doing what?”She doesn’t answer, and I move closer. “Doing what, Agnes?”
Her breath shudders as if the walls around her are crumbling all at once. And then she snaps.
“You knew the grave was empty! You forced those men, Ms. Blight, and me to stand there for hours! And the text? You know it came from your other phone!” Her words tumble too fast, a frantic mess that doesn’t make any fucking sense. “You swore you were done. That you would let Mr. Gabriel rest in peace.”
I don’t move. I don’t blink.
“What did you just say?”
“You said you were done going after the Brotherhood!” She gasps for breath, tears streaming down her face now, voice cracking under the weight of something I can’t place. “That you’d leave them alone. That you wouldn’t look back.”
Her face twists in anguish, her tears falling freely now.
It’s an almost convincing show.
Almost.
But something about this doesn’t feel right.
Because I don’t remember any of it.
And that means either she’s lying or I am.
And I’m not a fucking liar.
“Get out of my office. Immediately.”
Agnes shakes her head, still trembling, still wringing her hands like she can hold herself together if she just grips hard enough. “Sir?—”
“Now!”
The word cracks through the air like a gunshot.
She flinches, sucking in a sharp breath before she spins on her heel and runs. The sound of her sobs echoes down the hallway, fading with each hurried step until the house falls silent again.
I exhale slowly, my hands bracing the edge of the desk as I lower myself into my chair. What in the fuck was that? Agnes has been by my side for years. She’s been unshakable and steady, never once breaking like this. Not even when shit hit the fan. Not even when I lost everything. So why now?
The question sticks in my skull, refusing to leave, but before I can chase it down, my phone buzzes against the desk.
I glance at the screen. Blanc. I sigh and answer, pressing the phone to my ear.
“This is Irons.”
The response is immediate. Furious.
“Where in the fuck have you been?”
“Hello to you as well.” I glance at the clock, rolling my shoulders as I lean back in my chair. “Or I guess I should really ask why you’re still awake. It’s two in the morning there, right?”
“I’m awake because I nearly died!” Blanc snaps. “And you weren’t there to stop it.”
“What happened?”
“Did you not read any of the messages I sent?”
I hesitate. Just long enough to consider whether I should tell him the truth. That I was too busy drowning myself in Cecely to notice. Instead, I lie.
“I was chasing a lead.” My voice is smooth, measured. “I didn’t have my phone on me.”
Blanc exhales sharply. “Someone broke into the safe house and tried to kill me.”
I blink, absorbing the information. “I see they weren’t successful.”
“Now isn’t the time, Irons.” His voice is edged with frustration, but beneath it is fear. “You said I’d be safe. That Aimée and the kids would be safe.”
“And your mistress?” I ask, unimpressed. “Not worried about her?”
“Fuck you.”
I sigh. “So someone tried to kill you. Was anyone injured?”
“Only me.” He pauses. “It’s not bad. Not like last time.”
“Good.” I strum my fingers against the polished wood of my desk, thinking.
Blanc is a pain in my ass, but he’s right. He should have been safe in Dallas. I think back to the text Cecely got. How the man knew Blanc was in Dallas. I refuse to admit that it might really be Gabriel.
“We need a new plan.” My tone shifts, becoming colder. “You’re not safe in Dallas.”
“You think?”
I ignore the sarcasm, my mind already five steps ahead.
“There’s only one place on this earth that’s safe.”
Blanc exhales. “And that would be?”
I lean forward, smirking slightly, though he can’t see it. “My island.”
Silence. A pause just long enough for him to realize I’m serious.
“Fine. When do you want us there?”
“Give me two days to make the arrangements.” My voice is steady, controlled. “This goes without saying, but tell no one where you’re going.”
“I won’t.” A hesitation. “And Beatrice? What about her?”
My grip tightens slightly on the phone.
Beatrice Blight. Also known as Cecely’s mother.
“That’s up to you.”
Blanc exhales sharply. “Bring her, too.”
I don’t react. Don’t let my voice waver. “I’ll be in contact later.”
I end the call before he can say anything else, pressing my fingers together, my mind already shifting gears.
I should find Cecely.
Let her know.
Prepare her for what’s coming.
But there are other things that need my attention first.
Like figuring out what in the fuck Agnes has been up to behind my back.
Because something isn’t adding up.
And I don’t intend to let it go unanswered.